Deadly Sins
by Opulent Skyscrapers
Summary: Axel is an angry, hormonal guy, who gets pissed when strangers' sandals fall on his head. Roxas is a painter who likes to sit in high places, who has a pair of sandals which don't like to stay on his feet. Thank you, cheapo sandal. Happy times. AU
1. Chapter 1

Paint me the color of sin, Roxas thought, and the black of my soul and the white of my skin will still show through.

He leisurely licked a rather large block of sea-salt ice cream protruding from a splintery popsicle stick and savored the icy goodness flooding through his mind. Aah, brain freeze, he swooned mentally. How I've missed you.

He kicked his legs dangling over the edge of the clock tower lazily. The sun was slowly sliding off the canvas of the sky past the clouds and beyond the horizon; slowly, slowly, with such heavenly hesitation. The sky was washed with pale oranges and brilliant pinks, and Roxas sighed contentedly, licking his ice cream again. His foot twitched with glee and his sandal slipped a quarter-inch. Certain people might have given a damn about that fact. Roxas wasn't "certain people." He kicked his feet some more, uncaring. Another sixteenth-inch of pure, fake leather slid along his foot.

Then, rather abruptly—well, no, he couldn't quite say abruptly, for he _had_ recognized the characteristic growing hum of a large-ish group of loud people-- a pack of humans entered his line of vision. Roxas rolled his eyes, hoping they'd just leave, rather quickly; in fact, he hoped they would leave _extremely_ quickly. Stupid people. Interrupting his life. Psssssssh.

But they didn't leave, they didn't; they stood in front of the gargantuan architectural beauty that was the clock tower, yelling and laughing and hitting one another. Hitting one another a _lot_, actually. Roxas exhaled the pained sigh of One Who Wishes Those Neanderthals would just Leave His Sight. But _no,_ they were just enjoying themselves even louder, now (which Roxas didn't even know was possible), and he couldn't be quite sure whether their shouts and whacks were real or on jest. One of them was gesturing quite dramatically, huge, violent motions that even Roxas could discern.

Roxas harrumphed and looked back up at his sunset. It was much farther along now, the sky doused in deeper reds and oranges and almost-purples. If he looked upwards, he could see the grayish mauve of the first rim of the curtain of night, the celestial fabric just glancing out. He felt his shoulders drop and he took another relaxed lick of his ice cream, the (slightly melty) substance sending a shiver of cold through his body. His leg jerked, and the sandal fell off.

Oh, dear. He peered over his kneecaps, and saw the faux-leather footwear plummet through the air, twirling down towards its target, whatever that would be. He felt a vague indication somewhere that he should call out a warning (or something) to Those Neanderthals (Who, as a Side Note, Had Not Left Yet) standing very distinctly in the presumed path of the accursed sandal. But Roxas was too... well, let's put it lightly: _miffed_ at these potential targets to perform for them an elaborate conspiracy of civility and politeness.

So he just leaned forward a tad more and hoped they weren't _too _sensitive about rogue discount footwear falling on them From Above.

"DAMN IT!" cried someone (with an _extraordinary_ set of lungs) from below, who had presumably just been introduced (rather forcefully) to Roxas' left shoe. "OW! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!?!"

Roxas gulped, and cautiously flexed his right foot, Thankfully, _that_ sandal was still securely fastened. He lifted his leg and tightened the strap, anyways.

The aforementioned new best friend of the shoe (well, what else was Roxas supposed to think? There were a dozen or so _prime candidates_ for his shoe to fall on, and yet this apparently intuitive sandal was irreversibly, compulsively, and magnetically drawn to _that_ specific person) was, currently, employing a few heavy-duty swear words (that Roxas, personally, saved only for painting the most difficult portraits or molding the least pliable clay) and clutching at locks of burning red hair.

Oh, my. He'd never heard _that_ one used _that_ way before. Roxas fought back a blush. He idly wondered if he should be impressed by such a man, or if he should be running away faster than he'd ever ran before. On the one hand, certainly a man of such caliber was strong, assertive, and fearless. Fearless, for certain, because he _obviously_ wasn't afraid of using such swears that made Roxas blush so hard he thought he'd be honestly mistaken for a tomato, in an area directly adjacent to the Twilight Town Family Outdoor Park And Playground. If he squinted, Roxas could just _barely_ make out the hordes of mothers covering their children's ears in horror. However, on the reverse side, the side that argued that Roxas should be whimpering in fear and running like a frightened rabbit, was the (rather compelling) evidence of said man having an extremely large temper, which was being exercised by these swarms of cussing and the vigorous beating the sandal was now taking. And it wasn't just _any_ sandal; it was _Roxas'_ sandal. The sandal he had gotten at Wal-Mart (along with its brother—or maybe sister, he wasn't quite certain) for exactly seven dollars and thirty-eight cents.

And it was dying. Roxas was sure of it. He could see it happening. He wondered if he should call the police.

Another member of the group stepped forward to said hitter of sandals. This member held up his hands in an obviously placating gesture, as a method to calm the other down, Roxas inferred. The placator cautiously stepped towards the one who needed to attend an anger management class, and very slowly put his hand on the other's shoulder. Now the redhead was being man-hugged (or something) by the placator. Mr. Temper slowly broke away and, very deliberately, pulled something out of his pocked. He fiddled with this thing in both his hands and then put it in his mouth, letting it rest there and then taking it away, pushing out breaths of (barely visible) blue smoke.

After a moment of this calm, in which Roxas' dear hopes of them leaving and him rescuing his sandal (or whatever was left of it) unscathed were built up, the man several hundred (or thousand, or million, or billion: Roxas didn't have the best sense of distance) feet below looked up along the clock tower. His friends (or whatever they were) looked upwards, as well, and Roxas gulped. He had been spotted.

Ohhh, the humanity.

His hopes were (so instantly) dashed.

The man pointed, dramatically (Roxas had now I.D.'d him as the dramatic gesturer from a simpler time, a time in which his sandal still lived on his foot), at Roxas on his perch atop (or nearly) the clock tower. He started to shout at him, and his voice became incomprehensible with rage. Roxas quickly stood up and weighed his options: try to make it down through the stairwells inside the tower, but risk meeting Redhead and (presumably) dying a painful death, or staying up where he was. The latter had the advantage of... well, it didn't have one, actually.

Wait. It _did_ have an advantage! Maybe, if he hurried, he'd have time to leave a note. Maybe he could cut his finger (he was _not_ emo, thankyouverymuch) and write it in blood. Now, _that_ is the way to leave a suicide note. He began thinking of his opening sentence.

The shouter continued to bellow out screams that might as well have been in Mandarin Chinese, for all Roxas could understand. There was a moment of silence, for which he was thankful. It was just so hard to concentrate on one's final words with that sort of background noise.

_Dear Mother...._ Roxas pursed his lips in concentration, fumbling around in his pocket for something sharp, sharp enough to break skin. He retrieved his hand from one of the quadruplets of pockets of his cargo pants, holding a quarter, a scrap of (unused) toilet paper, and his house key. Pfffffffft.

Well, one does what one can with what one has. Roxas proceeded to slowly stab at his finger with the sharp (ish) edge of his key while thinking of his second sentence. _It's not your fault_ would most likely be the traditional following sentence, he mused; but Roxas wasn't entirely traditional. Besides, _his_ mother had been a ghastly woman. He was only even addressing this to her because no one else would give a damn (and he was a little unsure about her, too). His mother _was_ horrid (always making peanut butter almond cookies. The nerve. _Why_ didn't she understand that Roxas like walnuts, damn it!?! Who gives a crap if he was _allergic_?!!? He wanted walnuts!) So, no consolations for her. The second line would, he decided, be _It _is_ rather your fault, but don't feel _too _guilty: you only contributed (but you contributed a fat lot, Mum. _WALNUTS!).

Roxas had just composed the third sentence (_Regardless, the foremost causes of my demise include exactly one half of a pair of discount sandals, a redhead who needs an anger management class, and a sunset) _when he heard heavy, panting shouts approaching him. Roxas looked up from his aimless stare of concentration to peer over the ledge, and saw (with considerable dismay) that the posse of strange people had disappeared. He could only infer that they had started to make their way up though the masses of stairwells living in the clock tower and were now drawing near, very near, to him. He gulped. Oh, the horror! Didn't people have the right to compose their own suicide note?!? _What was the world coming to?!?_ He furrowed his eyebrows and desperately stabbed at his finger with the house key.

_Yes!_ Roxas thought as he broke skin. He squeezed his finger and started to scrape the bleeding tip across dirty, sand-colored brick. It stung, and he was disappointed to see that this meager amount of blood simply wouldn't do for such an elaborate suicide message. Footsteps pounded closer, echoing and reaching Roxas' ears, and he decided that he'd just have to improvise. He painted a messy heart and a comma, then the beginnings of his name. _R...._

"Are... we... bloody... there?" huffed someone from inside the hall. Roxas jumped. His time was running out. _O..._

"Yeah... man... just k-k-keep going!" _X-A-S!_ Roxas wiped the dirt off his finger and inched over the outskirts of the ledge. He peered over the edge cautiously. Damn, but it was a long fall....

"Why couldn't they have built... a damn ele—ele—elevator?!?" puffed another. It seemed louder. Roxas took a deep breath and spread his arms. Goodbye, life... goodbye, peanut butter... goodbye, beer. Oh, beer. He'd miss beer most of all. Goodbye, all hope of becoming a famous artist...goodbye, non-existent Hollywood apartment.

Roxas rocked on the tips of his toes and hesitantly leaned forward...forward... slowly, slowly forward.... His heart fluttered. Goodbye....

....Hello. He felt a strong set of hands grab onto his outstretched arm. "Hey!" shouted someone. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!?"

Roxas opened his tightly squeezed eyes and looked at the person. He paled. Oh, sh—

"Were you—were you—what the hell do you – just—_what the _hell,_ man_?!!?" stuttered the redhead. "Were you trying to _kill_ yourself?!?!"

"No, what makes you think that, Axel?" muttered someone sarcastically. Roxas' head snapped over to the speaker, a trim, pink-haired man decked out in tight black and chains. "It couldn't _possibly_ be because he was trying to jump off a bloody building!"

"Shut up, okay, Marluxia?" said the man in a low tone, still grabbing onto Roxas' arms. What did that other guy—Marluxia, or something, call him? Roxas had a hard time thinking of this violent over-reactor having a name. It just didn't fit.

Roxas was suddenly grabbed back onto the wider part of the ledge. The guy pushed him up against the wall violently. Roxas' head burned from the impact, and he glanced over to his left, where the rest of the group was huffing and puffing amongst themselves. What's-his-name's hand shoved over and latched onto Roxas collar tightly, and the other hand twisted his face to meet the (surprisingly vibrant) green eyes of his captor. "Did you pelt me with that sandal?"

"Um," Roxas stuttered nervously. "It was an a-a-accident." Someone snickered and Mr. Green-Eyes smirked cruelly, his rage twisting into amusement.

"I like you," he said, not loosening his grip. "What's your name?"

"R-R-Roxas," Roxas gasped. Stupid moody men... damn them....

"I'm Axel." Green eyes narrowed with a wider smirk. "Got it memorized?"

"Um—y-yeah, I guess."

Axel snorted, and his fingers relaxed. "You got a last name, there, Roxas?"

"Um....er... I mean, yeah. 'S Torregrossa." Roxas colored.

Axel snorted again, and Roxas was reminded of a bull just before it charged. "Is that Italian, Roxas Torregrossa?"

"Or something."

Axel's fingers were far away from his collar now, and Roxas smoothed it out anxiously. "Well, then, I'll see you around." He tipped his fingers in a mock salute, and then began to herd his gang down again. They stirred in anger.

"We just ran, like, a million stories up so you could—"

"Shut it, Saïx," said Axel, uncaring. He turned to Roxas and winked.

Roxas gaped for a moment. "All this.. because of a _sandal?_"

Axel looked at Roxas again. "Yep."

**A/N: **So, here's the first chapter!! It took me a ridiculously long time to type, and I apologize for any typos. Please review and let me know what you think!

**Disclaimer: Nothing!**


	2. A lie STOP HOPING, PEOPLE

Hey, everyone,

So... um, what's up? How are you all?

The reason this is here is not because it's a chapter (obviously). This is here, because... well, it's been four months since I updated and it might be a while until chapter two is up. DON'T DESPAIR, though! Chapter two is all planned out, it's just not flowing. I tried writing the first half and it turned out... um, really badly. And you guys deserve better than that, right? That's riiiiiiight. You do! xD

I know there's only one chapter up so far, but don't lose faith! Axel and Roxas shall continue their throughly messed-up adventures sometime soon-ish. Soon-ish, soon-esque... yeah. That. If you're interested in ranting about the long wait to me, or want to have some in-depth conversation about the concepts of morality and emotion and how they affect the lives of the Nobodies, feel free to PM me. :D

Love you all!!

~~~Opulent Skyscrapers


End file.
